


Red Hat White Rabbit

by Be_the_Spark



Series: Side Stitches [1]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_the_Spark/pseuds/Be_the_Spark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kirsten realizes the construct in her head is akin to high tech spyware, she switches gears from searching for her father to searching for the origin of the technology. Unfortunately, this effort is not enough to stop the boy in the red hat from appearing to her during her waking hours. Also – Kirsten stitches into the consciousness of a woman that was murdered by her unstable ex-husband, and makes a shocking connection to her father in the process. Cameron and Camille are thrown off when Kirsten gives them the cold shoulder and turns to Linus for help with her secret dilemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remember When

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story for this fandom, and I hope to do more.
> 
> I just want to clarify, in case anyone thinks that I'm being insensitive about the subject of mental illnesses, that I'm not writing about any illness that I don't have myself. Therefore I am going to do my best to approach this topic respectfully.
> 
> Also, because I was so stumped on specific titles, I'm just naming each chapter after a song that I listened to during the writing process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to know where you kept your secrets  
>  I used to know where you kept your heart  
>  But lately I am out of place  
>  I used to feel every fight you fought  
>  And I used to know every line you crossed  
>  But lately I can’t even see your face
> 
> ~from the song Remember When (Allison Weiss)

PROLOGUE

Torn from reality. 

It’s more than just a euphemism. Being torn implies pain, and even the pain of a mental nature takes a physical toll. Believing that there is nothing to fear but fear itself is a cute but antiquated perspective, especially when the stress of chronic fear coils the blood inside your muscles. Layers of fear upon muscle - the fear of the terrible things that can happen in one’s sleep, from immobilization to witnessing chill-inducing silhouettes that suggest you are not alone. You can’t rest for fear that the next time an unwanted voice surfaces within your mind, you won’t be able to ignore it. Fear that the deeper you fall, the further gone you will be. Fear that no one will be able to help you if they find out…and that if they do find out, they won’t want to.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

She would never, ever say this aloud, but it was hitting off as one of those days when Kirsten Clark could have really used another Kirsten Clark. Ideally, the other Kirsten Clark would still have temporal dysplasia and therefore be able to walk through the underground NSA-funded laboratory carrying only an arsenal of sarcastic quips and a craving for something other than Chinese food from the restaurant upstairs. Temporal dysplasia Kirsten Clark would be able to listen to Cameron Goodkin alternate between voices of gusto and concern towards her with an impatient indifference. She could have walked side by side with her roommate, Camille, and right past Linus, totally unaffected by his dismal expression. 

Instead, Kirsten was bracing herself for the edge that she would feel the moment she stepped out of the elevator.

You don’t care about what Camille is doing. You don’t care about what Cameron is doing, insisted her thinking voice. Doing her job, finding her father – those were, in no particular order, priorities one and two.

Ding! 

Unfortunately, the elevator to the lab was never slow enough for her these days. And when the doors slid open, Camille was already waiting.

“Hey,” the other girl said, her face marked with hesitation and an implied question mark. 

Reminding herself of what the other Kirsten would do, she allowed her walking pace to match Camille’s and tried for a pleasantly neutral tone. “Did you eat the last of the muffins this morning?”

A very temporal dysplasia thing for her to say. Too bad Camille wasn’t in on the game. She grabbed Kirsten by the elbow before they reached the end of the hallway and led her to a corner.

“Look, you can cut the crap. I know you’re pissed, and I get it. Okay, I get it.”

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t ‘get’ anything. I am fine, so you can go ahead and spend your energy patching things up with Linus. Or kickboxing, shopping – take Liam if you want. Just mind your own business so that I can mind mine.”

It was an honest rebuttal. Every time Kirsten replayed the memory of walking in on her ex-boyfriend and Camille in the kitchen, she felt as flat as an empty tire. It was a curious notation, seeing as how Liam Granger had all but stepped out from a Nicholas Sparks film. 

Camille just shook her head in disbelief. “So you expect me to believe you’re suddenly back at the ‘I don’t give a damn’ stage?”  


“You’ve already explained what you’re doing,” pointed out Kirsten. “Maggie says jump, you say how high. She said spy, and so you did. Just like you did before.” She paused to let that last remark cut as she remembered how her induction into the Stitchers program had been made possible because the program’s director, Maggie Baptiste, had hired Camille as an informant on all things Kirsten.

For a second, Camille’s eyes flashed at the reference. Then she lowered the intensity of her glare, uncertain. “You know, you weren’t upset when you found out about my deal the last time, either. As I recall, you saw it as almost impressive.”

Sensing this discussion was drawing to a close, Kirsten waited for Camille to admit defeat and withdraw. Instead, her friend surmised, “But that was then. You’re not that person anymore, so I’m not buying your whole emotional refrigerator sales pitch. And –,” she continued, stepping in to block Kirsten’s attempt to leave, “even if you do realize that I have solid reasons for investigating Liam, you’ve still been on a bitch-bender for weeks now. Something is eating at you, and if it’s not just me then it’s –.”

“Alright, shut up!” The snap was delivered more loudly than Kirsten had meant for it, and her eyes self-consciously darted across the main lab. A bewildered-looking Linus was staring at them from his station. Ayo from Medical was now averting eye contact, but she’d definitely heard Kirsten. At least Tim from Engineering seemed disinterested.

But Cameron – of course Cameron was right on it. Damn it.

As he made his way up to them, Camille lightly tapped her on the wrist. “Please,” whispered her friend, the catch in her voice giving Kirsten pause. Camille never begged for anything. “Just don’t tell Linus.”

Three seconds later, Cameron was standing in front of them. “Problem?” he asked before shifting his gaze to Kirsten alone. The heat rose to her cheeks. “Let me guess. You’re fine, right?” He folded his arms in weary resignation, and for a fleeting second Kirsten felt a twinge of bitterness turn sideways. She’d been pushing him away so often, he’d come to expect it from her. Sometimes, in her weaker moments, she missed being able to lean on him.

Something was different about Cameron today, though. He was wearing a gray tee under his white collared button shirt. Nothing special there. But the loose black cord tied around his neck – that was new. On normal occasion, he didn’t wear jewelry. And the silver wolf medallion dangling from the cord was very particular. Game Of Thrones.

Nina.

“Kirsten?” Cameron prompted.

Despite Kirsten’s disapproval, she wouldn’t tell anyone Camille’s secret. Before she was relieved of her condition, Kirsten had always assumed that she would have loved Liam if she’d been capable of the emotion. However, seeing Camille fooling around with him struck a very odd chord. Not hurt, but perhaps disappointment masquerading as anger. Her only real outrage was on Linus’s behalf – he was already miserable enough with the distance and lies that Camille had wedged into their relationship. But to ache from the loss of Liam himself…as far as Kirsten was concerned, her time with him felt even less real now than it had then. 

She glanced at Cameron dismissively. “Camille ate the last of the muffins this morning. That’s all.”

Kirsten needed something real. The problem was, something real probably didn’t need her at all.


	2. I Know Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby I know places we won't be found and they'll be  
> Chasing their tails trying to track us down  
> Cause I, I know places we can hide
> 
> ~from the song I Know Places (Taylor Swift)

“Nick Sheridan,” Maggie announced by way of greeting as they settled into their seats in the conference room. The image of a happy couple was displayed on the wall screen. The man had his arms wrapped around the woman’s waist; by their classic yet understated clothing choices, Kirsten determined that these photographs were either taken as engagement or newlywed stills. “Thirty-two years old. Diagnosed with a variety of mental illnesses, including bipolar disorder. He’s wanted by the police for the murder of his wife, Lily.”

“Wanted,” repeated Kirsten. “So then we need to help this guy and figure out who really killed her.”

Camille cleared her throat. “Um, yeah, about that? Nick definitely knocked her down a staircase. There’s security camera footage – Lily worked as an auctioneer and this shot was taken as she was leaving her office.”

She tapped her tablet and the video of Nick and Lily Sheridan began to run. A cold dread filled Kirsten as she watched their heated conversation turn violent. The photograph of them together, smiling and madly in love…how did it end with a forty-five second black and white clip that seemed more in place with a Hitchcock feature? 

The room fell into stony silence as the footage showed Nick shoving Lily down a flight of stairs, and then finally it cut out. Eventually Cameron spoke up. “If the police already know who killed Lily, then why are we getting involved?”

“Because no one knows where Nick Sheridan is now. He’s severely unstable and could possibly hurt more people.”

Or himself, Kirsten thought, disquieted. “So you want us to stitch into Lily Sheridan’s mind to find out where to look for Nick.”

“Yes.”

Linus, who had been sitting through the presentation until now with an elsewhere expression, said grimly, “Talking logistics for a minute here, there’s at least a sixty percent chance that Lily’s memories won’t show us anything useful.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Really? Sixty percent?”

“Never tell her the odds, Threepio,” Camille muttered.

Kirsten snorted in amusement, then immediately recovered upon seeing the others’ utter shock at her reaction. Once again, no one could find anything to say. But even Kirsten Clark needed a break from self-restraint every now and then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As she assembled her blonde hair into a high ponytail, Kirsten wondered idly whether Cameron and Linus had intended for her black stitching suit to make her look like a dominatrix queen. Did her predecessor, Marta Rodriguez, have such issues with them before her final stitch? More importantly, did Cameron allow Marta to look after her own needs instead of constantly checking in on her?

Well, he must have, emerged the calming thought. If Marta hadn’t ended up in a coma, he wouldn’t be this neurotic about making sure you’re okay.

But the experience with Marta wasn’t the only reason why Cameron was so neurotic about looking after Kirsten. If it had only been just her safety in question…but now it was, “How are you feeling?” and “Your obsession with finding your dad is making me worried.” And then, the absolute worst: Are you sure you’re okay about me and Nina?

Frustrated, Kirsten rolled her eyes. Then she looked down, envisioned a whip to go along with her dominatrix suit, and strode out to the fish tank.

She was just settling into the water when Cameron appeared at her side. Because the guy seemed to just be unable to help himself from it, he said, “Listen, Stretch…you can choose how the next five minutes go. But this time, if you run into anything abnormal, I want to know about it. Otherwise, I’ll talk to Maggie about suspending all upcoming stitches.”

Kirsten blinked. “An ultimatum?”

“A precaution. Trust is a two-way street, and if you can’t trust me then I can’t…” His voice trailed off. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” 

Feeling uncomfortable as he walked away, Kirsten slid further back into the water, letting it tickle around her ears.

At his station Cameron announced, “Okay, people, here we go!” and ceremoniously began a status check of each work station in the lab. “Medical! How’re we doing?”

“Looking good,” chimed Ayo.

“Sub-Bio!”

“Ready!” came the answer.

“Engineering!”

Kirsten heard a grunt, which was most likely Tim’s.

“Lastly not leastly, I need a com check from our blonde femme fatale.”

Wincing her already-closed eyes and stifling a groan, Kirsten said into her headset, “Just go, please.”

“Story of my life,” noted Cameron sadly. “Engaging Stitch mode in three, two, one – !”

Stitching always provided a rush, and this time was no exception. Kirsten’s soul sparked to life, forgetting that her body was still resting in a fishless fish tank, electronically connected to Lily Sheridan’s. But – where was Lily?

“Ahh!” she yelled as she was struck backwards by an invisible force. She’d barely had enough time to cry out before her surroundings took the form of a sandy beach. “What the hell?” she demanded.

“You landed in Lily’s death memory first. Sorry, that was my bad,” she heard Cameron’s voice through the microphone. “What do you see now?”

She looked around. “Just your typical romance movie, complete with the perfect sunset on a beach.”

“Do you see Lily?” he asked.

She turned around. There was Lily, slight and dark-haired, in a long white dress that made her look like a fairy. The woman walked barefoot in the sand, over to the slab of stone on which Nick Sheridan was perched. 

“You’re no fun these days,” Lily teased him. It was a gentle chide, and for a brief moment Kirsten saw Nick’s expression lighten.

“I’m just tired,” he replied, apologetic.

Kirsten said aloud, “Trouble in paradise, I guess. Lily’s trying to cheer him up, take care of him.” She strained her ears to listen to more of the conversation.

“It’s more than that,” Lily told him. “Have you thought about my idea?”

“We don’t have to do that,” said Nick gruffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t be,” insisted Lily, her chiding tone now replaced with a more commanding one. “Nick…I’m really worried about you.”

Lily’s words resonated with Kirsten in more ways than one. Stitching always provided the emotions of the deceased as an occupational hazard, and she could indeed feel Lily’s love and increasing concern for Nick.

“Alright, Stretch, onto another one,” Cameron’s voice interrupted, and within the fraction of a second Kirsten was subtly shifted into a new memory. Even though her eyes were still closed, her subconscious mind was now in an office, one furnished with shiny leather upholstery and bearing a vague lemon verbena scent in the air. Everything in the room was haloed by the sunlight that filtered through the window shades.

Lily was there, pacing around the office as though she was contemplating an exit. 

Then, “Hello, Lily. I’m glad to see you.”

She watched as Lily shook hands with a man with reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes. “I’ve been meaning to see you for a while, Jake. It’s just that things at home have been…”

“Kirsten, we’re at under three minutes,” Cameron’s voice reminded her. “What’s happening?”

Lacking the time to listen to Lily’s reunion with Jake, Kirsten took a peek at the books stacked behind his desk. 

“Understanding You. Breakthroughs in Mental Health. Profiling the Person…Cameron, I think Lily was talking to a psychologist about Nick.”

In a low voice, Jake was telling Lily, “This could be a good time to take a break, you know?”

Lily shook her head. “Oh, I can’t leave him. He needs – .”

“Help. Professional help,” interjected Jake bracingly. “If you bring him in, we can explain this to him. Tell him that it’s the best way to save your marriage, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Listening to Jake now, Kirsten had the peculiar sense that he was closer to her own age than the initial impression allowed. His prep sweater and swept back hair pronounced his maturity, but last year Kirsten had been dressing in a similar way. Maybe it indicated less seniority than it did anti-sociality. 

Cameron’s voice broke through again. “Okay, what’s the doctor’s name?”

But before she could answer, someone else whispered, “Kirsten.”

Kirsten spun around, Cameron’s voice fading from her attention.

A young boy stood in the doorway. Brown hair and blue eyes, all under a red baseball cap. Kirsten stared at the boy who wasn’t really a boy, who looked like young Cameron but wasn’t really Cameron.

This time, if you run into anything abnormal, I want to know about it. Otherwise, I’ll talk to Maggie about suspending all upcoming stitches, the real Cameron had said.

Well, thought Kirsten. It looks like this will be my last stitch for a while.


	3. Breathe Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logic forces me to believe in this,  
> And I have learned to see,  
> And I can only say what I've seen and heard,  
> And only you can choose,  
> And every choice you make will affect you,  
> Suit your own self.
> 
> ~ from the song Breathe Today (Flyleaf)

As was the case the last time she encountered the boy, Kirsten suppressed the voice she used outside of her subconscious and instead spoke to him through her thoughts. 

“What are you doing here?”

The boy replied, “I had to stop you.”

Kirsten frowned. “Stop me?”

“The doctor. No one else can know about him. It’s too dangerous.”

How would this boy – this thing that claimed to be a construct designed for her subconscious – know whether something was too dangerous? Biting back her suspicion for now, Kirsten asked, “Then what am I supposed to do? Just pretend I never found out anything else about him?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And then you solve the case. Only you.”

“Why?” The space beneath her feet began to rock and teeter. She felt cold, tingly, and from a distance she could hear Cameron calling. It was time to bounce out.

“To protect him. And you…and everyone else.” The boy nodded, as if answering his own question and not hers, then added, “Evergreen Park Avenue, the Wyatt Building. Suite 507.”

With automatic precision, Kirsten’s fingers typed her PIN and the password I Heart Linus on the clear keypad by her arm. Her eyes opened, and she let out a gasp. It felt like she’d taken a soft blow to the stomach.

Cameron raced over to help her out of the tank. Shaking his head, he asked, “Why do you always wait til the last second, huh?” Then his voice took on an elevated level of concern. “Kirsten, are you okay?”

She wasn’t. The floor still felt unsteady. And it wasn’t only because of the effects of the stitch.

“I think I need to lie down,” she said softly, shaking the haze out of her head.

Truly, it was to lie down and think. And to delay the inevitable. The kid was definitely more than a subconscious construct. And in spite of his warnings, there was no way in hell she could possibly keep what she’d just realized to herself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linus was in the process of shutting off his computer monitor when he saw Kirsten brush past Camille and make her way towards him. She’d emerged from the stitch claiming failure to retrieve the doctor’s name, which shocked everyone but him. 

“Hey, got a second?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Look, first of all, I’m sorry. Again. I should have looked harder for more information.” She bit her lip, and the thought came to Linus’s mind that she could have been lying. But if it was something she couldn’t talk to Cameron about, why would she tell him?

He smiled anyways. “Hopefully you’ll all believe me the next time I throw a ballpark figure about the odds.”

Kirsten blinked in confusion. “But you did make that calculation up. I mean, sixty-percent –.”

“Alright, math genius,” he conceded. “But I was right about the results anyway.”

He studied the expression in her dark eyes, but they gave away nothing. At the risk of her walking out of the conversation, Linus added, “But there was also that anomaly recorded in your chart. How about that?”

Kirsten cast a glance backwards at Cameron, who was over in his station packing up, and leaned closer to Linus. “If I told you something about it…could you keep quiet about it? I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll need more information before going to come forward with what I think might be going on. I can’t give everything away, but if you can answer specific questions…”

Linus contemplated. He had no idea why she was turning to him now, but it was best for at least one person to be in the know. “Then tell me anything you want.”

Releasing an exhalation, Kirsten pursed her lips. “Thinking computers – what would you say if I asked how far spyware technology could advance with resources like the ones we have here?”

Spyware? Linus shook his head. “Are you thinking of solid examples? Because I can’t ballpark that one. Camille’s the one who’d know computer science better. What else can I work with?”

Kirsten hesitated. “Is there a way to implant a computer program into the brain of a living person?” she asked in a low voice.

Linus’s eyes widened. “Wait, do you think that’s what’s going on here? How –?”

“I don’t know, okay? I just want to look into it, before everyone starts freaking out. Or I can just work on it myself.”

Reluctantly, Linus nodded. “Fine. But your question sounds more like a neuroscience-related question, and Cameron’s right over there.”

He saw doubt flicker in Kirsten’s eyes. “Do you ever feel like…not talking to someone?” she asked, tentative.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Camille heading in their direction. In spite of himself, he knew the answer to Kirsten’s question was ‘yes.’” Linus sighed. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a tight smile and, without another glance behind, went to the elevator.

Meanwhile, lucky Linus now had more questions to answer.

“Whoa,” began Camille. “Did Kirsten actually just confide in you? Linus, what the hell?”

Linus shrugged. “It wasn’t like that. She had some questions for me, but I said I couldn’t answer them so she left.” A pang of guilt washed over him upon seeing Cameron’s disheartened expression. The poor guy was trying so hard to mend the rift between himself and Kirsten, and there was Linus, standing in the middle of it.

“What kinds of questions?” his friend prompted.

“I can’t say yet. Look,” he continued, alarmed at Cameron’s kicked-puppy face, “she’s going to come clean with all of us soon. She just wants to do some fact-checking before getting us involved.”

 

“But why did she ask you?” Camille asked pointedly.

Linus raised his eyebrows and rose from his seat. “Maybe because I’m the only one here who doesn’t dive into her personal business without invitation? All I know is that she barely gave me any details, and she doesn’t feel like talking to either one of you about it.”

Laying the situation out like this definitely sucked – it sucked hard – but Linus knew he was right. Apparently, it made sense to Camille too, because without exhibiting any surprise, she turned towards Cameron. “Well, I know why Kirsten doesn’t want to talk to me. What did you do?”

Cameron shook his head, utterly baffled. “I have no idea...hold on, what exactly did you do, Camille?”

But all Camille did was cast a heavy glance at Linus, making him feel sick. Kirsten wasn’t the only one excelling at creating strain in relationships these days.

“You girls should form a club,” he muttered under his breath, finally switching off his monitor. If either Camille or Cameron had heard him, they didn’t respond. And he didn’t wait to see if they would.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kirsten hadn’t meant to actually fall asleep when she came home. But the light of the sunset outside hit through the windows, illuminating behind them in shades of orange, pink, and purple. She leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes. This sunset…it was like the one from Lily Sheridan’s memory. In Kirsten’s dream, that memory replayed itself again, with more clarity and elaboration than she’d seen before. This time, she could feel the sand crunch and sift between her toes, taste the ocean’s salt in the air. The white dress she wore fluttered against the mild breeze.

Nick stood in front of her, a mixture of grim and wry humor etched on his face. “I’ve been really trying, you know? I’m so sorry, it’s just so hard right now to tell the difference between who I am and what I’m turning into. How much of what I’m feeling is real, Lily?”

Love, thought Kirsten. When you feel it, you know what it is. Love is real.

“Wake up Kirsten. We’ve got work to do,” said a familiar voice. A child’s voice, belonging to the boy in the red hat. Where was he? Fearful of his appearance, her eyes snapped wide open; heart flying, she launched up from the sofa, wild and fully awake. 

It’s okay, the calm voice inside her head intoned. Take two breaths and swallow, one breath, swallow. 

Maybe it was time to tell Cameron. Kirsten could call him over right now, asking him to bring over a bottle of wine to calm her nerves. Then he would sit there, quiet and attentive as she postured to him the terrifying theory that somebody out there was watching her every thought and movement from inside her own head. Finally, he’d reassure her in any way he could, promising he wouldn’t rest until he found a way remove the construct from her mind.

The phone was in her hand, ready to be dialed, when she noticed a small blue business card taped to the otherwise pristine refrigerator door. With the trepidation that any blonde female character would have while walking into a B-rated horror trap, Kirsten drew closer to the fridge, until her hand was able to snatch it from the piece of tape that had been holding it there.

A Los Angeles phone number was printed across the front in large block print. Above it was a name in smaller script. The name of Lily Sheridan’s doctor.

Shaking, Kirsten’s other hand set the phone on the counter. “Oh God,” she breathed, staring at the card.

Dr. Jacob Brown, Mental Health Practitioner.  
Evergreen Park Avenue, the Wyatt Building. Suite 507


	4. Whirring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You make me sleep so badly, invisible friend
> 
> Turn the dial on my words  
> I can feel they fall short  
> Turn the dial, chime alarm, chime alarm  
> Watch these hands move apart  
> Turn the dial on my words
> 
> I can see you staying here
> 
> ~from the song Whirring (The Joy Formidable)

NEXT DAY

Although Camille was well aware of the effort Kirsten was making to avoid her, they had to interact again at some point. And for Camille, it would preferably be before they went into the lab, so that another almost-fight wouldn’t happen. What they were fighting about, though, was something she wished she could ask about. Maggie Baptiste was her boss, and more importantly, Kirsten was her best friend. If her boss recruited her for an assignment to protect her best friend, she wouldn’t compromise it for anything. Even if it meant breaking her own boyfriend’s heart.

God, Linus. I’m so sorry, thought Camille, feeling a sting in her eyes. No, she wouldn’t cry. What she would do, however, was refuse to take any more silent treatment from her roommate. She’d sacrificed too much to keep Kirsten safe; the least she could receive was a bit of empathy for it.

So, preparing to dish out some tough love, Camille knocked on Kirsten’s bedroom door. No answer. 

“Hello? Running late here, chica!” She turned the knob and pushed it open. “Kirsten?” Camille said into the empty room. 

“Arrgh!” Her arms reached out, as if to strangle an invisible Kirsten. That was when she noticed it – right there, in the center of the pillow on Kirsten’s bed. As if she’d wanted Camille to find it. It took Camille three seconds to snatch the business card, one second to read it, and ten seconds to reread it in shock. 

As though on cue, her cell phone chimed loudly from the handbag she’d left in the hallway. She was there in a dash, breathless while retrieving it.

Please let it be her, please let it be her – 

Her heart sank at the name on the caller ID. “Cameron –.”

“Yeah, were you two planning on coming in at all today?” He sounded irritated. At least Camille didn’t have to worry about ruining someone’s good mood.

“I was. But listen, I think I know where Kirsten is right now. Cameron, we need to find out anything we can about Dr. Jacob Brown.”

“Brown? As in a relation to Elizabeth Brown?” said Cameron, disbelieving. “Kirsten’s been looking for this lead for weeks – why didn’t she tell us?”

Camille sighed. Why did or didn’t Kirsten do anything these days? “Well, she left Brown’s business card out in plain sight, so she’s not hiding this one from us. I still want to kill her though,” she added.

“Yeah well, Lucy’s got some splainin’ to do,” he quipped weakly. “See you at work.”

 

Kirsten wasn’t altogether entirely sure why she hadn’t bothered to call in late for the lab. Her only defense was that she’d been half out of her mind. Between the unsettling dreams and the boy’s voice that haunted them, she hadn’t slept at all, only waited for daylight hours to return so that she could drive into Los Angeles proper and dig up everything on Jacob Brown. Hopefully Camille would find the card back at the house and take it as a valid excuse of absence.

Hours later, standing inside an office that Kirsten had already seen through the eyes of a dead woman understandably felt eerie. And she couldn’t help throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder every ten seconds to make sure the increasingly creepy little boy wasn’t standing under the threshold. It probably would have been a good idea to bring along her friend Detective Fisher, but Kirsten was racing against the clock and even though she’d already tipped off her friends, the false child Cameron’s warning to not involve anyone else in this case could have been a threat.

But to think – this whole time, the psychologist that Lily Sheridan had been meeting with was none other than the son of Elizabeth Brown. Elizabeth Brown, formerly Elizabeth Stinger, who had once been married to Kirsten’s father. This morning Kirsten had researched everything she could get her hands on about Jacob. After her divorce from Daniel Stinger, Jacob’s mother had remarried Travis Brown. The Browns appeared to be the standard postcard family, with nothing Stinger-related to taint their lives. However, Kirsten did manage to find interview that Jacob had given to a journalist after receiving a full-paid scholarship to a university of his choice. It documented his explanation for changing his original field of focus from hard science to psychology. “My mother struggles with depression. I’ve wanted to help her since an early age, and lately I’ve been reading – educating myself – so that I can help her and others going through the same thing.” 

Kirsten’s lips rose in a wry half-smile, thinking that if Camille had seen that article she would have scoffed and called Jacob “Saint Vanilla” while secretly checking out his backside.

“Can I help you?” a mild voice interrupted her thoughts. Her posture stiffened, the sudden tension in her nerves an automatic response. Yet she managed to turn and greet Jacob Brown with a well-practiced formality and her identification badge. Just as if it were any other case.

“My name is Kirsten Clark. I’m with the NSA.” Damn it, she thought, realizing that her voice had accidentally slipped and made that last word sound like a question. Continuing on, she said apologetically, “Your door was open. I probably should have made an appointment.”

Lifting his eyebrows quizzically, Jacob replied, “I suppose there are worse ways to spend my lunch hour. What can I do for the NSA?”

Curious. There’s so much neutrality in his voice, thought Kirsten. Normally she would have never felt so uncomfortable speaking to a leading source, but this situation had to be handled carefully. 

As in, the “don’t crack the egg before your chicken hatches” kind of carefully.

“We are looking into Lily Sheridan’s death. She was one of your patients, wasn’t she? 

This time, the surprise on Jacob Brown’s face was unmistakable. “Lily Sheridan…wouldn’t that be a case more appropriately handled by the local police? Why is the NSA getting involved?”

Well, there was a question she didn’t get asked every day. But the longer Kirsten looked at Dr. Brown, the less guarded she felt. He wasn’t really challenging her, just displaying curiosity about her job.

“We have a professional liaison relationship with Detective Quincy Fisher,” she allowed. “His department is concerned about her husband’s whereabouts, so he called in a favor and here we are.”

And here I am, hoping that you don’t know enough about the way the NSA works to contradict me, came an unbidden voice of self-doubt. She shoved it out of her mind just as Jacob gestured towards the polished leather armchair in front of his desk. Kirsten sat down, slightly surprised. It was more comfortable than it looked.

Looking at her from his desk made Jacob seem older. How young would he had to have been to earn a PhD in order make it this far into his career by his late twenties?

“Who told you Lily was my patient?”

Kirsten’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “You mean she wasn’t?”

“She was a friend. I was advising her, free of charge and off record. Although,” he added, “if Nick had come in for treatment it would have been different.”

“Why didn’t he then?”

Jacob sighed. “Some people like to handle their problems, no matter how difficult, on their own.”

“Why do you think he killed Lily?”

The way Jacob’s responding stare switched from Saint Vanilla to (at least what Cameron would have called) Death Stare was downright startling. 

“Why do you think I’d have any idea why Nick killed Lily? I wasn’t a witness to it. And I have about ten minutes to eat something before my next scheduled appointment so if you don’t mind…”

Who would have thought she could handle a case acting like temporal dysplasia-Kirsten and feel the awful guilt she had now for the insensitivity? Needless to say, the proverbial eggshell had been cracked.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for your time,” she said, rising to her feet.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun glared into Kirsten’s face as she got into her car. It almost felt angry, or maybe she was just hot in the face because she was remembering Jacob Brown’s reaction to her questions.

Checking her phone for the time, she saw the expected. Three missed calls from Camille, five voicemails from Cameron, one (most likely very stern) message from Maggie…and Linus had sent one. Maybe he’d found something on the anomaly inside her head.  
Her fingers tapped the phone screen to access Linus’s message. Then she stared at it. The sun turned cold, and every sound and motion dimmed from her attention.

“Why are you doing this?” said a child’s voice.

Against every instinct that told her not to look, Kirsten turned to the passenger seat and saw the boy with the red baseball hat. “What are you doing here?” she breathed raggedly.

Little Not-Cameron seemed sad. “You were supposed to trust me. I was meant to keep you safe.”

“Something in my head that tells me things I don’t know, things that I can’t tell my friends, and things while I’m not even inside a stitch does not make me feel safe.” Yet even while she was saying this, it was hard to look at the boy’s face.

Trust me. Keep you safe. Those words sounded so familiar that she could almost believe it. Voice shaking, Kirsten said, “If you want me to trust you, then you can start by telling me who put you inside my head.”

But he shook his head. “It’s too late now. Someone is going after Jacob Brown tonight, and you’ve compromised my existence so that I won’t be able to help you.”

Fear dropped into the pit of her stomach, and she looked away. Kirsten wasn’t usually one to second guess her decisions, but what if she’d just made a deadly mistake? Then again, what could be more dangerous than a cryptic entity invading her mind?

“Maybe I don’t need your help,” she said, glancing up again. The passenger seat was empty. Kirsten looked at her phone, still in her hand. Then she bypassed the voicemails to type a text.

NEED PROTECTION 4 JACOB BROWN 2NIGHT. TXT BACK ASAP


	5. Little Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back/  
> Well tell her that I miss our little talks/  
> Soon it will be over and buried with our past/  
> We used to play outside when we were young/  
> And full of life and full of love/  
> Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right/  
> Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear/  
> 'Cause though the truth may vary/  
> This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
> 
> ~from the song Little Talks (Of Monsters and Men)

Detective Quincy Fisher liked to think his social improvisation skills had somewhat improved during his time with the NSA’s Stitchers program. Before that, his personality after the divorce had been born out of self-inflicted solitude. Being roped into adding some value and experience to a team of young scientists changed that for him. Seeing the way Kirsten used an invincible attitude to mask her vulnerabilities had a way of drawing out the protective sides of other people, and Fisher was no exception. Then there was Camille, the tenacious firecracker that never backed down from a challenge and who was able to boldly wear her heart on her sleeve. She was so busy taking care of everyone else that Fisher had realized at some point that she needed someone to take care of her too. Her relationship with Linus had been strained as of late, which troubled Fisher more than he’d have liked to admit. Being with Camille had helped Linus grow up. Fisher respected the way he’d grown. And Cameron…despite the kid’s initially awkward attempts to facilitate a bond, he’d grown on Fisher. Definitely worth taking a bullet for.  
All geniuses in their own right. And all fiercely loyal to a fault.

But he still wished he didn’t have to invent plausible explanations for how he was able to solve crimes using intel obtained from a girl who mind-walked her way through memories of the dead. If he wasn’t careful, talking to someone like Dr. Jacob Brown could result in receiving his own psychiatric referral.

He knocked on Brown’s office door, wondering if maybe he should have asked for more information from Kirsten before jumping on this case. But “Elizabeth Brown” “son” and “danger tonight” were the only five words it took to get him to Evergreen Park Avenue.

And just as Dr. Jacob Brown was opening the door, a budding idea occurred to Fisher, one that Kirsten had perhaps overlooked. However, that idea dissipated as soon as Brown said, “Hello. Can I help you with something?”

Fisher cleared his throat and began his rehearsed introduction. “Dr. Brown? Hi, I’m Detective Quincy Fisher, LAPD.” Brown frowned, scrutinizing the badge that Fisher had flipped out. “I’m actually hoping to help you out here, instead. Do you recall having a meeting with an NSA agent recently?”

“Kirsten Clark,” said Brown, sounding slightly bored. He stepped back to let Fisher into his office. “Yes, that was nearly three hours ago.”

Fisher frowned at his dismissive tone, but went on. “Continuing her investigation in the Sheridan case, Agent Clark has developed some concerns for your safety.”

“Has she?” Brown’s tone was dry. The young doctor’s blatant disinterest regarding Kirsten struck Fisher as odd. Everyone that he’d ever seen meet with her for the first time held various reactions, but indifference was never one of them.

“Doctor, I’ve got to ask – is it too far from a possibility to think there’s someone out there who’s threatened your safety?”

Fisher usually hated giving bad news, but as Brown paused at his question, he found himself hoping that the doctor would make this conversation easier by taking the matter at hand more seriously.

Instead, a small chuckle escaped Brown. He explained, “Detective, I treat many, many patients here with countless psychological disorders and mental illnesses. Anyone working with that number of people is bound to earn some unfriendly attention. I’m sure that with your experience in the police department, you understand that?” Fisher gave a short nod, starting to recognize his own dislike for Brown. But the doctor added, “The worst threats I’ve ever received over the years came from a patient whose favorite hobby was writing hate mail to Enya. That patient finally found some effective treatment and is now healthy and happy. And Enya, in case you haven’t noticed, is still alive. Do I think that there’s someone out there who poses a threat to my safety? I’m sure that there’s someone who thinks that they do. But I’m not worried, Detective.” He folded his arms, obviously preparing to say goodbye.

Fisher wasn’t done. If Brown had a slew of hostile patients in his clientele, then anyone who wanted to hurt him tonight would had to have issued their threat more recently. It sounded like an act of desperation, done by those with nothing left to lose. 

Taking a stab in the dark, Fisher said, “When was the last time you heard from Nick Sheridan, Doctor?”

This time when Jacob Brown paused at Fisher’s question, an expression of panic was locked in his face. The detective smiled, grimly satisfied to finally have the matter at hand taken seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The damn elevator strikes again, thought Kirsten as it dinged to announce her arrival at the lab. It wasn’t as if she was nervous about being fired. Unless Maggie had another Stitcher up her sleeve (which in theory couldn’t be entirely ruled out – the woman was the Fort Knox for helpful secrets), the program was useless without Kirsten’s involvement. 

However, it didn’t escape Kirsten’s conscience that she’d hurt the people closest to her today. She’d pulled another temporal dysplasia Kirsten Clark move, just as she wished she could, only now she was going to suffer for it. 

Getting fired suddenly seemed like a rather appealing idea. So, inspired by that idea, Kirsten headed directly for Maggie’s office, feeling like there was ice in her stomach and fire in her face as heads down below turned upward to watch.

Deservedly, the head of the Stitchers program was livid on sight. “How nice of you to show up, Agent Clark,” she said, letting the words Agent Clark sound like synonyms for less flattering terms, such as Thoughtless Creature or Selfish Bitch. 

But ‘Kirsten Clark’ would have encompassed all of those things and more lately.

“I’m sorry,” said Kirsten. “Please, I know I - .”

“We have less than ninety minutes before Lily Sheridan’s memories expire,” cut in Maggie coldly. “Tell Cameron to prepare for the operation, and get ready to work your ass off. This time, I want Nick Sheridan’s location.”

Kirsten’s head twitched up and down in a short nod. In all honesty, she’d assumed that Cameron had gotten his way and put a halt on all future stitching operations. She should have known that Maggie would never have accepted that proposal.

Cameron barely looked at Kirsten as she approached. “Maggie…wants another stitch. For Lily.” His face slowly turned to hers at the sound of a catch in her voice. Kirsten braced herself for a diatribe. Or a chilled reply.

Instead, his tone was quiet. “Are you sure you’re up for it this time?”

Thinking of the apparition in her car, Kirsten blinked back a tear. And shook her head. It was clearly not the reaction Cameron had anticipated. With elevated concern, he said seriously, “We don’t have to. I mean, there are other ways we can figure out what’s going on with Sheridan. Kirsten –.”

Now it was Kirsten’s turn to be surprised. God, her heart was breaking with relief, with guilt, with gratitude. Cameron had never, ever yelled at her with fury in the past; she should have known he wouldn’t now. The one tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away in haste and said, “No, Maggie will hold it against me. You know what that’s like?”

His mouth quirked in reassurance. “No, but I was never stupid enough to try it. Hey, c’mon, Stretch. Just one more, okay?” Then he wrapped his arms around her, warm and tight. 

Just one more. Kirsten sniffled and nodded. She sighed and breathed him in, knowing that she’d miss him the moment he let her go.

“Kirsten,” said someone behind her. Cameron gently released her, whispered, “See you on the other side,” and returned to his work station.

She turned around to greet Linus. “Hi.”

“Got a minute?” he asked, already leading her to his own station. Then he did a double-take at her shaken demeanor. “Are you okay?”

She offered a weak shrug. “You know me.”

Linus leaned in. “Does this have anything to do with…what you asked yesterday?”

Suddenly rapt for news, Kirsten asked, “Did you find something out?”

“Sort of…” After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “First I looked into the basics. I mean, it would have to be documented somewhere as one of the ten most advanced technological breakthroughs within the last decade or so, right? Only no one, not the military or cutting-edge corporations, has even gotten close to building a neuro-spyware. I’m not sure if some of them have even thought that far ahead yet. Which only leaves…”

“Us,” finished Kirsten, struggling not to exhibit any more emotional upheaval.

“Yeah. And all I could find is that the NSA has done some covert studies on building spyware itself. Nothing about it being pushed into a human brain. So the only two things I can think of are either a cranial microchip or communication through two sets of brainwaves. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

Kirsten managed a small smile. “It’s enough right now. Thanks, Linus.”

~~~~~~~~~~

While Kirsten was waiting in the tank, Cameron’s voice popped in through her microphone. “I switched to a private line for a second. This is going to be a milk run. Two memories, in and out. I don’t care what Maggie says. If anything doesn’t feel right, you bounce.”

How could she have shut him out for so long? In truth, she had a strong reason for avoiding Cameron, but she shouldn’t have hurt him in the process. Kirsten closed her aching eyes and murmured, “Thank you.” 

Switching back to open communications, Cameron once again assumed his role as master of ceremonies in the Stitchers laboratory. 

“Okay, we need a status check on Medical! How are her vitals?”

Ayo announced, “She’s okay to go.”

“Sub-Bio!” called Cameron.

“Check!”

“Engineering!”

“Awesome,” said Tim, sounding anything but awesome.

“How about you, Stretch?” Cameron asked her, his voice a bit lower.

She pressed her lips together, considering. “Just keep me from falling down the rabbit hole and I’ll be peachy.”

“I can do that,” he promised. “Okay, we’ll set the clock to three minutes. Engaging Stitch neuro-sync mode in three, two, one -."

Once again, Kirsten was rocked into another plane. The colors washed and bled into a hazy glow, disorienting her. Her feet remained unsteady, but she had less than one hundred and eighty seconds to find out where Nick Sheridan was, and she wasn’t going to waste them trying to adjust her balance. 

“What do you see, Alice?” Cameron asked from the lab.

She looked around, taking in the couches, lampshades, and magazines on the coffee table. “I’m in their house, I guess.”

Within seconds Lily followed Nick into the living room, irate and frustrated. “I already told you, he wants to help us!”

“Oh, you mean lock me away, right?” Nick shot back. 

“No!” cried Lily, wringing her hands. “He’s my friend, we can trust him –.”

But Nick shook his head. “How good of a friend?” he asked suddenly.

“What’s going on?” Cameron asked.

Kirsten could feel Lily’s pain, her exhaustion, and said wearily, “They’re fighting. About Jacob.”  
“Hold on, what?”

Kirsten bit back a swear. She’d completely forgotten to explain about Jacob Brown. “Uh, yeah. Jacob Brown is – was, Lily’s friend. A psychologist who wanted to help out.”

“Well, it is a small world, after all,” mused Cameron.

“I think…Nick is worried Lily will leave him.”

“He wasn’t wrong. Okay, ninety seconds here. Let’s scoot you to the death scene and see how it ends.”

But they already knew how it ended, didn’t they? They’d seen the tape.

Within a flash, Kirsten was in the auctioneer building. The stairs were right behind her. Even though she knew she couldn’t actually fall, Kirsten could already imagine the sensation that the plummet would cause. Meanwhile, Nick was pacing outside a door. Lily opened it, and looking startled, said, “Nick, I told you what I wanted. You shouldn’t be here right now. Go home.”

Nick’s eyes were lined with red and brimming with tears. “I just had to say I’m sorry again, Lil.”

This time, Lily just looked worn out. “I know you are. But I can’t fix you this time. I need to take care of myself too.”

Nick nodded, thinking. “It would be easier if I weren’t around though, right?”

Kirsten watch Lily shake her head. “Nick, I want you to get better. But you won’t. Just keep your distance until you can figure out what to do.”

Nick stood still for a moment, before he swallowed and said, “Yeah, I know what to do. Don’t worry, Lily. I know what to do.”

Comprehension dawned in Lily’s eyes as Nick walked away. She pulled his arm back as he started down the staircase. “Nick, wait! Please don’t – I didn’t mean that I want you to – .”

But Nick pushed back. “Let me go! I have to do it for you –.”

“Kirsten, thirty seconds!” called Cameron over.

But as Nick accidentally pulled too hard and sent Lily crashing down, Kirsten looked up and saw the boy with the red hat again.

She could feel the sharp pain of Lily’s fall strike her again and again. “What?” she cried breathlessly.

The boy said simply, “He wants to die.” Within a blink he was gone again.

Her vision began to blur as she heard Cameron yell out, “Kirsten, now!” 

Her fingers trembled, trying to type I Heart Linus into the keypad faster than she could remember it. She wasn’t sure she’d even completed the bounce before everything inside her head went dark.


	6. The Broken Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I can see a part of me in them  
> The missing piece always trying to fit in  
> The shattered heart  
> Hungry for a home  
> No you're not alone  
> I love the broken ones
> 
> ~ from the song The Broken Ones (Dia Frampton)

For most of her childhood, Kirsten lacked any sentimental attachments. Her father was just a person. His old house, the one he’d lived in with his daughter and Jacqueline Stinger, was just a house. In the past, whenever the memory of that house had come to mind, it resonated with about as much nostalgia as a real estate ad. 

That perspective was now jarringly altered, ever since Cameron’s desperation to prove himself to her had resulted in her stitching into his mind while he was flatlining. She saw what he saw, felt what he felt. Saw herself through his eyes, felt how he felt about her in his heart. When she’d emerged from the stitch, Cameron’s resuscitation had resuscitated a piece of Kirsten as well -the piece of herself that could see people beyond their labels. The piece that turned a mere architectural relic back into a childhood home.

In her dream, the sight of her old home was captivating, but the attachment was elusive. Kirsten wanted to keep exploring it until it felt real. So she stood outside, the distant whistling of summertime birds heard amid the backdrop of a golden sky. 

“Excuse me,” a young boy said softly from behind her. 

A jolt of tension sprung inside her. But as she turned around, the voice of a young girl piped up, “Who are you?” 

She froze, the nerves inside her as tight as a wire. It was little Kirsten Stinger, who couldn’t have been more than seven years old. She was holding a colored-tile block in her hand – a Rubik’s cube? It was barely one-fourth of the way finished, which could account for the disgruntled pout on her face.

Meanwhile, the boy was watching her from his bicycle. He was older, perhaps eleven at the youngest possibility, with dark brown, near-auburn hair that stuck out like straw; meanwhile his piercing hazel eyes were staring at Kirsten as though she had run off with his Nintendo Game Boy but was told to be polite to her about it.

“Is your father home?” asked the boy now.

“No,” said the younger Kirsten, her voice uncertain. “Why do you want to see him?”

“I just want to talk to him. He knew my mom a long time ago.” The boy spoke carefully, guarding his motives with a measure of neutrality that was almost…familiar?

The epiphany hit her hard. “Jacob?” she whispered, feeling enough cold and shock for a thunderstorm. No, this couldn’t be real. It was only a dream – 

Searching for a topic of distraction, the boy pointed at the Rubik’s cube and asked, “Need any help with that?”

Her younger self glanced down at the object in her hands gloomily and said, “I’m fine.”

Young Jacob stepped off from his bike and approached her. “Can I?” He held out his hand for the cube. Reluctantly, the girl handed it over. 

Jacob was in the process of teaching little Kirsten how to solve the puzzle when the memory itself started to fall back into a more conscious place in Kirsten’s mind. She could remember it now, how Daniel Stinger had come home to find the kids sharing juice boxes as Jacob was letting Kirsten try out his bike. How he’d angrily sent Jacob away, telling Kirsten to never speak to strangers. And all this time…

The hint of light’s presence beyond her eyes returned Kirsten to the realm of the conscious. Her throbbing temple was the most prominent wake-up call, and both the light and the headache forced her eyes to shut several times before identifying that she was on the sofa in her own house.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” said Cameron, who was at her side. He sounded relieved. “How’re you feeling?”

She moaned. “Like my skull just cracked on granite forty times.”

“That sounds about right,” chirped Camille, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of water.

“What am I doing here?” asked Kirsten, confused. Did they completely abandon the investigation? 

“Well, you were out of it, and the lab doesn’t exactly have the best recuperation facility,” replied Linus from a chair beyond her eyeshot.

“If you weren’t awake in another hour, the hospital would have been our next stop,” added Cameron, taking the glass of water from Camille and handing it to Kirsten along with two aspirin.

She was just swallowing down the second pill when a startling thought crossed her mind. The pill got stuck in her throat, causing her to cough and choke, much to the alarm of her friends. However the moment Cameron was able to get some water into her mouth, she gasped. “Fisher!”

Exchanging confused glances, her friends waited until she demanded, “How long have I been out?”

“Four hours?” answered Camille. Then, “Whoa! Kirsten, sit your ass back down!” When Kirsten ignored her and wobbled to stand, Camille snapped, “Cameron, make Kirsten sit her ass back down!”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” he retorted, helping Kirsten steady her feet. His blue eyes searched hers, questioning. “What’s going on, princess?”

 

“Nick is going to go after Jacob Brown,” she said hoarsely. “Tonight.”

With this urgent revelation, her living room suddenly came to life with three extra voices all saying the same kinds of things. “Are you sure?” “How do you know this?” “Why would Nick want to hurt Jacob?”

Kirsten waved her impatient, frantic hands. “I’ll tell you on the way!” she promised. “Right now we need to call Fisher and tell him to stand down.” Just as she made it to the door, though, her knees weakened and she doubled over. Her energy was still weak. 

“Help her,” Cameron ordered Camille and Linus. They each took a side and helped support Kirsten to the entrance. He added decisively, “I’ll drive,” and opened the door for them.

That was it. No arguments or more questions or second-guessing her judgement. They trusted her. And for the first time in weeks, Kirsten was holding nothing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is it,” Kirsten told Cameron as he drove closer to a house just outside the city limits. “This is where Fisher said he lives.”

“But, like, are we sure Nick’ll come here?” asked Camille as they filed out of the car. “I mean, how do we even know whether Jacob Brown went home? You think Fisher told him some basket case is going to kill him tonight and his response was, ‘Awesome, I’m totally ready to go home and sleep tonight,’?” 

“Yeah, Camille has a point!” said Linus.

But Fisher had told Kirsten that despite admitting he’d received disturbing phone calls from Sheridan a few days before Lily’s death, Jacob had refused to listen to his warning. He was almost definitely at home, which meant that if Nick was going after him tonight, it would be there.

Her heart pounded as she saw Fisher’s vehicle already there. Had he listened? Was he alone?

Thankfully, Jacob Brown’s front door was left ajar. Kirsten reached it first, but leaned her face into the small opening to assess the situation. Fisher was standing in Brown’s entry way, his gun pointed across the room. Pointed at Nick, who had Jacob tied to a chair, with his own gun aimed at Brown’s head. “Just put it down,” coaxed Fisher. “No one has to get hurt here.”

“You’re wrong,” said Nick, teeth clenched. “He told her to leave. He told her to leave me!” 

As quietly as possible, Kirsten slowly nudged the door open. “Kirsten, wait – ,” whispered an alarmed Cameron. But there was no time. She gently pushed her way inside, and went to Fisher, who glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Nick Sheridan, meanwhile, was bewildered. “Look!” he cried. Jacob grimaced as Nick pressed the gun harder against his head. “Right here! Who are you?” he asked the rest of them.

Kirsten tapped Fisher on the arm. “Let me.”

“I can’t,” he muttered.

“Trust me,” she said softly. “He doesn’t want anyone to die except himself.”

Seeming reluctant, Fisher stepped backwards anyways. Kirsten took a moment to look at her friends. Cameron’s was the last face her eyes fell upon, and she hoped he’d understand what she was, without using any words, trying to say. This is what you would do.

He nodded, confirming what she’d suspected for months now: ever since that stitch, the one that had changed both of their lives forever, there was someplace inside her in which she didn’t know where Cameron’s residual emotions ended and hers began. In a way that there was no telling how influential it was, it subtly helped guide her actions as well as her feelings.  
Kirsten stepped closer towards Brown and Sheridan. But Nick, seeing that she had no gun and therefore no means with which to kill him, said sharply, “Get back! Who are you?”

“My name is Kirsten,” she said. “I’m a friend of Detective Fisher’s.”

His face screwed up in confusion. “Where are the others? The other cops!”

“I asked them not to come.”

A strained bark of a laugh came from Nick’s throat. “What, are you going to tell me what your friend said? That I don’t want to do this? Because I do!”

Kirsten turned her sight for a moment to Jacob. There was a message in his eyes. Something he’d said before but she couldn’t pick out at the moment.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I know you do. But I don’t, okay? And Lily wouldn’t, either.”  
The man shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “I killed Lily. Killed her. What makes you think she’d care?”

“Because she loved you.”

But this only seemed to enrage Nick. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Do you?” But then a curious, desperate note joined the anger and devastation in his voice. “Do you, Kirsten? Know what it’s like to need someone, and to not be able to give them what they need! To feel like your life is over when theirs is?”

Kirsten remembered what it was like to watch Cameron die. Of trying to fight against that chaotic agony, but unable to do so because her mind couldn’t get over the wall that divided the past and present from a future without him in it. “I think so,” she admitted, wishing more than anything that Cameron wasn’t standing within earshot. “Yes. But you were sick. You didn’t mean to hurt her, and she always knew that. Nick, I don’t know whether you believe in an afterlife or reincarnation or any place where Lily’s soul can still exist. But if it does exist, then she does still love you. Because when you feel it, you know what it is. Love is real.”

Nick’s eyes widened, and she realized that the words she’d just spoken, the words she’d heard from her dream, had belonged to Lily. They had always belonged to Lily.

Taking another step closer, Kirsten said, “Please, Nick. Put the gun down.”

Nick’s arms dropped to his side, and he sank to his knees, sobbing. Then, driven by compassion that extended beyond even her understanding, Kirsten bypassed Jacob and got down on her knees as well. She drew the gun out of Nick Sheridan’s hand, moving it aside so that she could wrap her arms around Nick as he cried, “I’m so sorry, Lily. I’m sorry!”

Jacob had said earlier that some people liked to handle their problems, no matter how difficult, on their own. However, there is no stronger pain than losing love, and no greater cure than finding it again within yourself.


	7. Sleeping At The Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would give anything  
> But for the grace of God I'm here and still aware  
> We know the end is overrated  
> We've become the walls we raise  
> We don't believe enough but we still cared  
> Standing on the edge without a prayer
> 
> So come on, come on it's all we got  
> Our hands are full, our lives are not  
> The loose affiliation with the real  
> We're sleeping at the wheel
> 
> ~ from the song Sleeping At The Wheel (Matchbox Twenty)

Once Nick Sheridan was able to calm down enough to let Fisher cuff him (“It’s just procedure”) and escort him to his vehicle, everyone else wanted to called it a night and go home. Everyone but Kirsten. She’d wanted to ride with Nick all the way to the police station and then to the hospital for his psychiatric evaluation, but Fisher said it would take too long and bring too much attention to her status as an NSA agent.

But Kirsten didn’t want to go home. The boy with the red hat could appear anywhere and at any time, but the worst case would be the Inception scenario. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped that way, with a stranger that was able to see and talk to her inside her own dreams. The boy claimed that he was designed by a friend of hers; well, if Kirsten ever met that friend, he or she would have to endure a lengthy monologue about respecting the boundaries of privacy. After Kirsten knocked out some teeth, of course.

But going home, going to bed, going to sleep…the prospect of it all grew closer to reality as Cameron drove everyone back. He saved Kirsten and Camille for last, but they didn’t say much to each other along the way. Watching the sky ink itself with black and blue from the car window, Kirsten wondered whether Cameron was thinking of what she’d confessed to Nick Sheridan. That she knew what it was like to need someone, and to not be able to give them what they needed in return. To feel like her life was over when Cameron’s was. Because Cameron had to know it was him. When it came to how she felt, he knew everything…almost. 

After Cameron had said goodnight and dropped the girls off, Camille paused on the doorstep, her key partway in the lock. She smiled ruefully to Kirsten. “Not your typical bad guy-meets-bad end kind of case, huh?”

Kirsten looked away. “He was never a bad guy. He was just in a lot of pain.”

Her friend nodded, turning the key. But before she could push the door open, the night’s melancholy tone was interrupted by the sudden blasting of Talking Body by Tove Lo.

“Crap.” Camille rolled her eyes, withdrawing her cell phone from her purse. The song was silenced as Camille put the phone against her ear and sighed, “Maggie. ‘Sup, Boss?” Her eyes narrowed at Kirsten, and handed her the phone. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered, walking inside.

“Hey, Maggie, listen, about before –,” began Kirsten.

“Fisher told me what happened tonight. You did good work,” interrupted Maggie. Her voice was serene, reassuring, as though Kirsten hadn’t nearly botched up the entire operation. “I know it’s late, so I won’t keep you on the line for too long. Kirsten…I know what goes on in the lab. I’m not blind. There’s too much friction going on between you four. And it’s affecting the way everyone does their jobs.”

Twenty-four hours ago, that was true. However, they’d come together tonight, unified under the pressure of finding Nick and saving Jacob. The friction had been smoothed over. Hadn’t it? “I don’t think we have to worry about that anymore,” said Kirsten.

“Well, I do. Camille is seeing Liam on my orders, and my orders also include maintaining its secrecy from the others. She is doing her job. Your own secrets, however, are concerning me. They keep you apart from the others. Reluctant to share information.” 

“I’m sorry, but after tonight I really think that - .”

“Kirsten. This was one instance. What happens the next time you don’t want to be a team player? The way you are holding back on expressing yourself is causing tension, causing problems. So, I want you to do something about it.”

Kirsten bit her lip, waiting.

“I want you to find someone, anyone, to talk to. If you’re having an issue with Linus, Camille, or Cameron, find a neutral party like Fisher.”

Fisher? Kirsten almost laughed. The last time she’d tried to talk to him about her feelings, he’d all but pleaded for her to stop.  
“Maggie -,” she began to protest.

But Maggie’s tone was decided. “I don’t care who. As long as you’re sure you can trust them. See you tomorrow.” She hung up, leaving Kirsten on the other end with more objections hanging in the air.

With heavy feet, she went inside her house, into the empty living room and onto the couch. She buried her tired face in her hands. Maggie had to be wrong. The case was solved, the inner tension between her friends cut. She didn’t have to tell anyone everything.

“I know how you feel,” the boy’s voice said from nearby. Kirsten raised her head, her heart pounding. He told her earnestly, “You can talk about it with me.”

A short, derisive laugh escaped her. “I don’t think so. Do you have any idea how wrong this is? You can see everything, feel everything, know everything that I do. And I don’t even know who I’m talking to.”

The boy cast his eyes downward. “If I told you that, would you trust me?”

Kirsten just stared. There it was, her opportunity to see the man behind the curtain. She could find out who it was and then track them down. Demand answers. Discuss privacy and boundaries, and knock out some teeth. It was so simple, a straightforward path to someone who could probably even remove the construct. And she wouldn’t need to involve anyone. She wouldn’t have to follow Maggie’s orders…

Exhaling a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding, Kirsten made up her mind and looked up at the boy. “Never talk to me again,” she ordered. And he dissipated, leaving her alone once more. 

For all of its appeal, trusting the boy’s offer would have meant not trusting her friends. Trust is a two-way street, she remembered. If Kirsten couldn’t trust them, then they couldn’t trust her. And then she’d be all alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In truth, Cameron hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment. His brain had reacted to the stress of that day by sending him adrenaline, and he was still quite alert. He thought he’d done okay in the face of it all – at least, for Kirsten he’d done okay. She hadn’t heard him shout her name frantically after she’d come out of the last stitch unconscious. She hadn’t seen his face when she’d murmured in her sleep, “Cameron…get out of my head.”  
What had that been about? And then, well her back was turned when she’d told Nick she had someone in her life she needed. Someone to whom she couldn’t give what they needed. 

Sometimes Cameron thought he could understand Kirsten’s feelings before she did. But no matter what, it didn’t matter because her feelings were still as confusing as hell.

His girlfriend was pretty much the opposite of that. And as it turned out, Cameron had missed three calls from Nina that day. A bit of guilt wrenched in his chest. More than a bit, actually, especially given her upbeat message: Hey there Time Lord, guess what? Those tickets to RingCon came in the mail. Thought you’d want to know so you’d have a month to prepare. By the way, I can’t remember whether you wanted to go as Aragorn or Legolas. So let me know, ‘kay?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in faint amusement. It probably wasn’t too late to call her back. 

Knock, knock.

Puzzled, Cameron made his way to the door. It was midnight; no one visited him at this time these days. Camille and Linus were having some sort of silent fight, and ever since he’d started dating Nina…

“Hi,” said Kirsten as he opened the door. For a moment, Cameron felt like the air he’d been breathing was stuck inside his lungs.

It might have taken thirty seconds, but it may as well have been thirty minutes. Kirsten waited patiently, not even clearing her throat. “Hi,” he said at last.

She looked over his shoulder, hesitant. “Are you…doing something?”

He shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly, the sight of her now making all of his leftover adrenaline surge. “It’s twelve thirty-seven in the morning. Not much to do.” Stepping back to let Kirsten inside, Cameron asked, “What brings you by?”

But she just sat down on his sofa, casting a nervous glance here and there. Very, very un-Kirsten-like. Thinking, Cameron examined his wine rack, and pulled out Kirsten’s favorite red. 

Once the wine glasses were on the coffee table in front of them, Kirsten’s dark eyes turned to him, grave and nervous. “I’m sorry,” she began. “About the way I’ve been acting.”

“That’s okay,” said Cameron immediately, then saw her frown. “You’re right,” he amended. “It’s not okay. I just don’t want you to feel bad.”

She examined her fingers, picking at the cuticles, then said softly, “I should have told you something a long time ago. But I couldn’t, because I was scared.”

Instinctively, Cameron cupped a hand over hers. “You don’t have to be scared. You can tell me anything and you’ll be okay.”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about.” She now looked him directly in the eyes. “You’re not the only one who wants to protect someone.”

She was protecting…him? Frowning, Cameron asked, “What are you talking about?”

Taking a breath, Kirsten said, “The boy in the red hat. He talks to me, Cameron. When I’m stitching. When I’m sleeping. When I’m in my damn car.” A tear sprang from her eye. 

Cameron felt the room grow cold, thinking he’d misheard her. “That’s impossible,” he began.

Then she explained it all. How the boy was some kind of neurological voyeur, giving out warnings and information. Scaring her and then begging her to trust it. Horrified, he couldn’t help but sit there and listen in total shock.

“My God,” he whispered at last. He’d had no idea. “I mean, I wish you’d…you didn’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know. I just hate it when I make you worry.”

“Yeah…so do I,” he gave a throaty chuckle, which she returned with a small smile. “But I’ve got some news for you, Stretch. I worry a hell of a lot more when I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

She nodded, defeated. “Sorry.”

Cameron gave a faint smile, meanwhile considering. Kirsten had come clean about the construct, which was a good starting point. But she was still not acting like herself at all, which concerned him almost as much as the news about the construct did. “So, in the face of making me less worried, how do you honestly feel right now?”

In spite of the nature of this discussion, he once again expected to hear the downplayed version. That overall, she was “fine”. He never expected her to say, “Honestly…I feel like I’m going crazy. I’ve never been paranoid before, but -.”

Startled, Cameron looked around the room as if expecting to see the boy in the red baseball cap as well. “Is he here right now?”

She shook her head. Her face crumpled, about to cry, and before he knew what he was doing Cameron was gathering her in his arms and running his fingers through her soft golden hair.

“Ssh,” he whispered. “We’re going to fix this, okay? I promise. Kirsten, it’s going to be fine. Just get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”

Kirsten sniffed, looking up at him in surprise. “What, stay over here? I can’t, I mean -.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted firmly. “If you see the kid again, I don’t want you to be on your own. Unless you want to go home and tell Camille about this?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“No, you’re right. You need me.” There it was. He’d said it without thinking, but before they could be separated by ensuing awkwardness, Cameron coaxed, “It’s just one night, Kirsten. Then we go into the lab tomorrow, get to work on erasing Chucky, and go back into whatever awkward status you want for us. What’s so funny?” he asked, surprised at Kirsten giggling into his shoulder.

“Nothing. Just…Chucky.”

“What, he’s not a red-headed terror?” he grinned. “What does he look like?”

But Kirsten stared at him, locking up again. And Cameron realized that no matter what, there would always be something she couldn’t tell him.


	8. Make It Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the sins of my father  
> Weigh down in my soul  
> And the pain of my mother  
> Will not let me go  
> Well, I know there can come fire from the sky  
> To refine the purest of kings  
> And even though  
> I know this fire brings me pain  
> Even so  
> And just the same
> 
> ~ from the song Make It Rain (Ed Sheeran)

The first time Kirsten had seen Jacob Brown’s office, she’d smelled what she thought had been lemon verbena. But now that she was in it again, sitting in the large leather chair, it seemed entirely possible that she’d been wrong and it was the lingering scent of Pledge that she was breathing in. It was strange how a perspective could turn sideways within a mere twenty-four hours.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jacob told her. “Look, I think I should apologize for my attitude yesterday. I should have taken you and Detective Fisher seriously. If it hadn’t been for you…well, thank you.” He blew some air out of his lips, apparently not accustomed to swallowing his pride.

Kirsten made it easier for him. “Nick was never going to hurt you, Doctor. He just needed a solid reason for the police to shoot him.”

Jacob smiled ruefully. “I know. Again, thank you. Not a lot of people could have done what you did. Speaking to him on his level, connecting with him – both challenging feats by their own merits. But you…you did it with genuine empathy. You saved his life. And -,” he held up a hand to hold back any protest -, “maybe even mine, too.”

“Well, I’m happy everything worked out,” said Kirsten, smiling back briefly. “But I’m not here to talk about what happened with Nick Sheridan.”

Jacob frowned, perplexed. “What else would we have to talk about?”

With the nerves in Kirsten’s blood shaking, she withdrew something from her purse and put it on Jacob’s desk. A wave of unreadable expressions passed over his face as he slowly picked up the Rubik’s cube.

“In the end I got pretty good at it,” she said softly. “Did you think I wouldn’t remember?”

A wide-eyed Jacob shook his head. “To be honest, I wasn’t even sure it was you at first. I never thought our paths would cross again.”

“That would have been a shame. Because I have no relatives. My mother’s dead. The man who raised me is dead. And…” she sucked in a breath. “Our father ditched me when I was eight.”

Sitting stiffly, Jacob put the Rubik’s cube down and informed her, “I don’t consider Daniel Stinger as my father. Not anymore.”

Kirsten nodded in understanding. “But we’re still family. And I’ve been looking for him for a while now. I thought if you knew anything -.”

A faint scowl formed across Jacob’s mouth. “If I knew anything? I don’t, and I wouldn’t want anything to do with your finding him even if I did. Kirsten, when he left, he didn’t only hurt me. My mother, she was never quite the same after he was gone.”

“Neither was I,” said Kirsten quietly. For one long second, she wondered whether this was a good idea, or whether she was going too far. But it felt right to her, that he should know. She told Jacob, “Dad was kind of a novice scientist. After what happened to my mother, he did something to me…The reason he left was because he couldn’t bear what he’d done. I was sort of a test subject in an experiment gone wrong, leaving me mentally crippled.”

Astonished, Jacob stood and paced his way to the front of his desk. “Mentally crippled? How?” he asked.

“Temporal dysplasia. For over sixteen years, I was unable to process emotions. I didn’t miss people when they were away, I didn’t get impatient during long lines or excited about anything. People thought I was barely human, and you know what? Maybe I was. I don’t know,” she sighed. 

Jacob blinked, obviously trying with difficulty to grasp this revelation. “With all due respect, but you don’t seem to have that problem anymore.”

She chose her words carefully. “Being with the NSA gives me access to…resources. Connections with people who had the means to help me.”

A curious concern glassed over Jacob’s hazel eyes. “That’s good. That’s really good,” he repeated, swallowing. “So, uh…why, then?”

Kirsten frowned. “Why?”

“You want to find Daniel Stinger, even after what he did to you. Why would you want that?”

Kirsten shrugged, her shoulders suddenly taut. “I guess I just want him to know. I want him to look me in the eyes and know what he did to me.”

Jacob looked grave at this admission, even graver than Cameron did whenever she talked about it. “It’s just some unsolicited advice here, Kirsten, but letting a grudge or grievance drive you in your search could end up in a lot of pain. I don’t want that for you, so I don’t think we should keep in touch if that’s where you insist on going. Can you understand that?” he asked her when she seemed unresponsive. 

But Kirsten, staring at the nameplate on his desk, was listening to every word. Some people would rather solve their problems, no matter how difficult, on their own. But Maggie didn’t want her to do that. And looking back on it, she did have some pretty compelling reasons for it.

“I understand,” Kirsten finally told Jacob. “My boss actually has some similar concerns. I’m still getting used to recognizing my own emotions, and sometimes, lately, they’ve been interfering at work. There are things that I can’t talk about with my friends and coworkers, because they involve my friends and coworkers. So, I’ve been given this request to see someone I can talk to about them. A neutral party,” she emphasized, giving Jacob time to take the hint.

“Oh,” he said softly. “I do want to help you. Really, Kirsten. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to help you professionally. Things are a bit complicated already with the way they are.”

Her spirits sinking, Kirsten rose to her feet. “That’s fine,” she said, because she didn’t know what else she could say. “No, I get it. Thanks anyways. It was great to meet you.” 

Jacob nodded, seeming conflicted. “You too.”

Well, at least Kirsten knew her brother existed. And that he was a decent human being, even if he didn’t want a relationship with her. She’d just have to find someone else. Sorry, Fisher, she thought with a sigh –

“Kirsten?” said Jacob. Kirsten paused just outside his office, and turned to see him holding the Rubik’s cube. “I, uh…have Thursdays off. Usually I’m at home, going through files and documents and such. Do you have time around 4:30?”

Kirsten smiled. “I’m sure I can pencil you in.”

He grinned, more relaxed than she’d seen him before. “See you around, then.”

Right then, Kirsten wished more than anything that Thursday was already here. There was already so much that she could talk about.


End file.
